Polaroid Moments
by coffeeandcas
Summary: "It's a gift. You keep those." Set during 12x19: Castiel returns to the bunker after his spell in Heaven. Finally, he and Dean get some quality alone time, during which Dean reminisces about their relationship over the years.


"It's a gift." Barely able to keep the irritation out of his voice, Dean holds the mixtape out to Cas, who is still loitering in the doorway. "You keep those."

"Oh." The angel hesitates, then whips the tape out of Dean's grasp as though he thinks it will be retracted if he takes too long. His posture is how Dean has come to recognise him of late: tense, drawn, and barely concealing a soul-deep sadness. Dean sighs, long-suffering, and spins his chair to face Cas before the angel can vanish again.

"Cas, with everything that's going on… You can't just go dark like that. We didn't know what happened to you. We were worried."

Cas has the decency to look apologetic, fingering the Led Zeppelin tape and is barely able to meet the gaze of his hunter. "I didn't mean to add to your distress. I… Dean, I just keep failing. Over and over again." His voice is thick with sadness, with desperation, and Dean fights down the urge to get up and hug him. "When you were taken, I searched for months and I couldn't find you. Then Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. And I just wanted… I needed to come back here with a win for you." He pauses, then says quietly, "For myself."

Dean feels for him. He does. But the residual anger at Cas just taking flight again and going radio silent is still there, despite his understanding. "You think you're the only one rolling snake eyes here? Me and Sam, we had Kelly. And we lost her." It's a plea to Cas, to understand that this all isn't on him, but also to realise that he should have been there. Not off flitting about in heaven with those damn winged assholes, who don't even care about him. Dean cares about him.

"And if you find her?" The angel shifts from one foot to the other, characteristically skeptical.

"Sam's working on it." Dean wishes he actually felt as confident as he sounds, especially when Cas raises an eyebrow just a fraction. "Of course, he's hell-bent on finding something that doesn't mean killing her." Unlike you, he wants to add petulantly but stops himself just in time. He doesn't want to fight with Cas, not really. Not now.

"Right." Still skeptical, the ass. "And if he doesn't find something? If you run out of time, could either of you kill and innocent?" The 'because I could' remains unsaid.

"We will find a better way." This time, Dean's determination does underwrite his words. He knows they will. He doesn't know what, or when, or how, but he knows it will happen in time. Sam will come through, he always does. They just have to wait. Suddenly May 18 doesn't seem so far away, but he quashes down the mild panic by focusing on Cas. The angel gestures between them, the mixtape still in his hand and hope in his eyes.

"You mean, we?"

"Yes, dumbass. We."

Dean gets up, watching as Cas turns wary, hopeful eyes on him, and reaches behind the angel for the door handle. Gently nudging Cas out of the way, he closes the door then runs a finger slowly up the lapel of that damn tan trench coat. He really likes Cas better without it, but the angel seems so attached.

"I was worried, man. That isn't OK." Dean's voice is lower now, husky with something else other than anger. A different kind of frustration. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Cas almost rolls his eyes, almost; he can tell the angel stops just short of doing so. He doesn't step closer to Dean, but something changes in his body language with the door closed behind him. He relaxes - only minutely, but it's there. Tensions ebbs away from his shoulders and the lines between his brows become less pronounced. It's as though having the security of the four walls around him is comforting on some level, and Dean gets it.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Dean." The mixtape is pocketed and Cas' hand comes up to ghost across Dean's fingers. The air between them is charging up, almost crackling with tension borne of anger, frustration, pining and need. It's been so long.

"Can you promise me that?" Dean whispers it almost to himself. "Promise me that I won't wind up kneeling next to your body in some unfamiliar yard after a plan goes sideways?"

There's an ache in the blue eyes, and Cas takes Dean's hand, pulling him forward so they almost share a breath. "I can't promise anything like that, Dean. I don't know what's going to happen. But it will be all right. We will be all right. No matter what happens."

And Cas kisses him. A gentle press of lips at first, sparking years of memories between them. His lips are rough and dry and warm, and so perfectly familiar that Dean just melts into him. He's missed his angel so fucking much that he barely dares to admit it. He wants to remain angry and aloof, but he's struggling. Drowning in need for his lover, and having him in his arms now is everything he's been pining for during Cas' absence. His heart aches for Castiel, and his body responds in kind, taking him back to the memory of the night they first laid a hand on each other.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, stepping up close into his personal space and murmuring, in a tone so cold it could freeze the sun, that Dean should show him some respect. The chilling threat of being thrown back into Hell. Castiel, curt and stoic and powerful, standing his ground and staring Dean out until his only choice is to look away. Castiel and Dean, alone in Bobby's empty kitchen, as sparks similar to those from the barn threaten to ignite between them.

For a moment, Dean just blinks and gapes at him, paralysed with fear. Then he's moving as anger pulses through his veins, grabbing Castiel by his collar and spinning them around so that the angel's back is jammed up against the refrigerator and Dean is all up close in his personal space now, hissing inches from his lips.

"Earn my respect and then you'll receive it, you sanctimonious prick. I don't owe you jack shit for existing. No damn angel has ever been any use to me in the past, and I don't see that fucking changing."

Castiel, irritating and infuriating and cooler than liquid nitrogen, doesn't move. He just stares at Dean with that blank, impassive, ever-so-slightly condescending manner, and raises an eyebrow.

"You don't? Maybe you should be more optimistic."

"Yeah? Well, optimism is another thing that hasn't exactly got me anywhere either." He grips Castiel's coat tighter, twisting and dragging at the fabric in a way he knows must be uncomfortable. If angels inhabiting vessels can even feel pain… "You wanna throw me back into Hell? Do it. I'd rather be there than in debt to your holier-than-thou ass. But we both know you won't fucking do it, no matter how many times you threaten to."

"Oh?" Castiel actually has the nerve to look amused. "Why is that?"

Dean leans in close to whisper in the angel's ear, and in doing so gets a deep lungful of Castiel's scent. Rich and musky, with just a hint of an indeterminable cologne. Dean's body responds in ways he doesn't appreciate at all, and he grips the damn coat even tighter.

"Because you. Fucking. Need. Me. And you know it."

His lips brush Castiel's ear as he speaks, and the angel turns his head just a little, bringing their lips into close vicinity. Against his will, Dean's eyes flick down then back up to stare straight into dangerous blue depths. Castiel's lips are chapped, badly. The urge to run his tongue over them almost overpowers Dean, and he inhales sharply at the realisation. This angel is doing things to him that he didn't think were possible. He isn't into men, not really. A quick fumble in the back seat of the Impala or down an alleyway doesn't count. But this… this feels like it counts.

Castiel is so close that the blue of his eyes blurs in font of Dean's vision. They're sharing a breath, and its intimate in a dangerous way. Castiel is waiting to see his reaction. He's testing him. He won't push forward or pull back until Dean does, and Dean doesn't know what the fuck to do. He wants to release the angel, shove him away and tell him to disappear off to Heaven and make himself useful. Wants to berate him some more for being so ineffectual. But the actions won't come, the words stick in his throat.

So instead, for lack of anything else rational to do, he kisses the angel. And it is good. So fucking good. Dry, hot, gentle lips pressed against his own, Castiel tensing beneath his hands and kissing him back. Dean's hands move to the angel's hips of their own accord, then he's spun around and slammed against the refrigerator and Cas is kissing him like he's starving for it…

Then the angel pushes himself back, off and away from Dean and for a moment there's a wild, untamed look in his blue eyes. A look of panic underlaid with lust. Then, in the moment between one blink and the next, Castiel is gone.

Cas is kissing him as though there's no tomorrow. What had started off as something chaste and sweet, a stolen moment, has quickly progressed into heat and passion and need. Their time apart has driven them both wild with longing for each other, and now that they're alone it's impossible for either of them to hold back. Castiel's arms are around Dean's waist, holding him close to his body and Dean has one hand tangled in Cas' hair and the other fisted in the front of his trench coat, and their tongues are exploring every curve and crevice of the other's mouth. Dean aches for his angel, in every way.

He grips Cas' damn coat and hauls it off his shoulders, down his arms and throws it aside. The angel makes a small noise of protest into his mouth at the treatment of his prized possession, but Dean is too caught up. They're both wearing too many clothes. Cas' lips meet the skin of his neck and Dean tilts his jaw back to allow him better access, griping his hips to pull them flush against each other. Cas attacks his throat with licks and nips and ferocious kisses, sucking a deep red mark into the hollow of Dean's collarbone. That would be hard to hide in the morning, if he didn't have an angelic lover who could erase all the evidence of their dirty little secret.

Dean wants to tell Sam. It's Cas who is shy and doesn't want to spoil the dynamic of their little trio. But one day, he always promises Dean. One day, we'll tell him. After all this is over.

The problem is that 'all this' never seems to really be over. It's one thing after another, and Dean has truly thought that after the hellish fiasco with Amara and after Cas let Lucifer take him for a ride and almost burn him out that the angel would see things differently. And he does: he's even more reserved than he was before, even more concerned with upsetting the apple cart. I just want you and Sam to be happy, Dean, he always says, but never listens when Dean tries to tell him that Cas makes him happy. He always turns away before the words can come out properly.

Cas is backing him up towards the bed and Dean goes willingly, his skin prickling with arousal and desire and the burning need to have his angel stripped down and on him. All over him. Inside him. Because yeah, Dean bottoms sometimes for Cas. When he really needs him, when he's missed him more than words can say or when they've had a particularly rough day, he needs Cas to be the one holding the cards. The one who can take him apart and put him back together, sealing the cracks with gold and stardust and making him new again, like he once did after Hell. And Cas does. He does it instinctively, always knows what Dean needs, and knows when and how to give it to him.

He already knows tonight will be exactly what he needs.

Castiel comes to him when he sleeps. He wakes countless times to the angel standing over him, watching him, or sitting on the edge of the bed with a curious, contemplative expression on his handsome face. Beyond Dean griping at him when he's barely awake, fuzzy-headed and irritable, they don't talk about it. Until they finally do, and when they do it's a quick conversation made up of a handful of words because they're too busy grabbing for each other and letting their mouths seal together. Castiel is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands fisted in Dean's sleep t-shirt and pulling him up to meet his eager mouth. Castiel kisses hard, dominates and controls, his tongue pressing for entry and it's granted without a second's hesitation. Castiel explores every inch of his mouth, and Dean gives in helplessly under the onslaught, clutching at the angel and feeling dizzy, like he's falling, only to be caught by the man he's been obsessing over since he first laid eyes on him in that bar. Castiel is additive, intoxicating, and dangerous. Oh, so dangerous. And Dean loves the thrill.

Outside the night is dark and still, a stark contrast to the passion building between them, and Dean will be forever grateful that he and Sam separated to work this case. He lets Castiel strip the sheets off him using nothing but his grace, allows the angel to push him to lie down with a hand flat over his heart, and puts up no fight at all when Cas' hands trail down his chest to play with the hem of his t-shirt. He's never wanted anybody more, and the sudden rush of endorphins and arousal and want holds him paralysed as Castiel slides a hand up over his abs to brush over his left nipple. All the while, the angel stares down at him with dark, lustful eyes and it registers somewhere in Dean's mind that surely Castiel is committing one of the deadly sins here.

In hindsight, perhaps that's the exact moment Castiel began his fall from grace, to land eventually at Dean's side.

Castiel stands abruptly, leaving Dean feeling suddenly cold and bereft, and strips off his trench coat and suit jacket, sliding his tie out of its sloppy knot and unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt with sharp, precise movements, all the while watching Dean just lying there on the bed with his t-shirt rucked up, his hair a mess, and the line of his erection glaringly obvious in his pyjama pants. Then Castiel resumes his place at the edge of the bed and, instead of leaning down to kiss Dean or toying with his nipples some more, his hand closes gently over the ridge of Dean's cock, cupping his hard shaft and tender balls, and the hunter lets out a startled cry as pleasure uncoils in his pelvis.

"Fuck… Castiel…"

"Tell me what you want, Dean." The angel's voice is a low rasp, deeper and more gravelly than usual, and his blue eyes hold a world of promise that Dean barely dares to imagine. The command in his voice is unmistakeable. "Tell me how to bring you pleasure."

The hand on him squeezes lightly, then a little more firmly and Dean writhes, arching his hips up, seeking more. It's intensely erotic, both of them fully clothed and Castiel touching him between his legs and nowhere else, all the while pinning him with that devastating stare. Every aspect of the situation lights up arousal beneath Dean's skin, making him squirm against the sheets and his clothing, craving more. His cock throbs desperately, and he knows he's about to give his all to this man.

"Your hand, Castiel. Touch me…" His voice is foreign to his ears; he's lost to the beautiful, forbidden man who came to him in his most private dreams and is now making those dreams a reality.

Castiel obeys his command. Still not moving at all aside from the one hand on Dean, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of the plaid PJ pants and tugs them down, Dean's hips lifting to give him assurance. They stop halfway down his thighs, leaving the hunter exposed and vulnerable, and they both stare for a moment at his cock as it lies heavy and full against his stomach: thick, cut, the skin a shade darker than the rest of his body, and the tip already leaking excited beads of precome. Dean is completely hairless between his legs, waxed and smooth, and he hopes it's attractive enough to the angel. He thinks it is. Castiel stares down at him like he's never seen anything of such beauty then, raising his eyes to Dean's for just a split second, wraps his hand around the shaft and Dean moans.

Castiel's palm, which had been cool and dry only seconds earlier, is now slick and wet, enveloping Dean in blissful heat; somewhere in the back of his mind he's sure the air crackled with some celestial grace for just a millisecond, but he doesn't give a damn. Whatever mojo the angel wants to use to enhance this experience is fine by Dean because this, this is fucking awesome. It's erotic and intimate and forbidden and intense all at the same time, and Dean's senses are overloaded by it all. Every muscle aches, tensing with pleasure as Castiel starts to work him with a loose fist, his spine curving as he thrusts his hips into the touch, skin overheating and sweat starting to form on his brow, upper lip and in the dip of his ribcage. He wants to touch, wants to reach out and tear the angel's clothes from his body and drag Castiel down into a searing kiss, but he's pinned in place, mesmerised and entranced by the arousal in the cerulean eyes and the pleasure coiling in his stomachs the angel strokes him and watches his every move, drinking in the reactions he's wringing from the pliant, aroused hunter.

His cock pulses another drop of precome and Dean whines. The slick slide of Castiel's palm up and down his shaft in a maddening rhythm is driving him closer and closer to an edge that he's too close to already. He doesn't want to disappoint the angel by coming too soon, but the way things are going the choice is going to be ripped from him. The only sounds in the room are Dean's gasps for breath and the wet sounds of Castiel stroking his aching cock.

"Dean," The low rasp breaks the quiet. "You're divine to behold. I hope you know this."

"Shut up and make me come…" Ever the eloquent hunter. Castiel's lips quirk in a smile and he tightens his grip, more slick suddenly coating his palm and Dean cries out, arching up off the bed, his hand grasping blindly towards the angel, seeking something, anything. Castiel's other hand finds his and links their fingers together, and that's how it all comes to a head: Dean grips his hand tightly and keens, a wave of pleasure creating and breaking over him as ecstasy ignites in his veins. He comes harder than he ever has before, spilling all over his t-shirt and Castiel's hand. The angel works him through it, slowing his rhythm and squeezing him just a little tighter at the base before easing off at the tip, his thumb pressing beautifully just under the head, working every drop of come from his pulsing, wet shaft. Dean cries out brokenly throughout his orgasm, gripping Cas' fingers with one hand and the sheets with the other, and at some point his head tips back and his eyes fall closed. Another wave of divine pleasure takes him and he arches, gasping as his balls tighten and Castiel works a second orgasm from him in less than a minute.

After what feels like hours of drifting in a haze of pleasure, Castiel's fingers slip from his grasp and he reaches for the angel's shirt. He wants more contact. The hand on his spent cock is still, cupping him but not stroking, and for that he's thankful. He's spent, exhausted, and becoming slowly aware that Castiel hasn't come. Hasn't even been touched. He tries to sit up blearily, reaching for the angel with trembling fingers, but he's gently pushed back. Castiel is smiling at him in a way he's never seen before: it's coy and shy and almost sweet.

"No, Dean. Relax."

"But you…"

"I'm fine. This was about your pleasure, not mine." Castiel quirks an eyebrow, the smile turning to a smirk, one Dean is familiar with. "You can take care of me next time."

Next time…?

And a moment later, after a tiny wave of his grace cleans Dean up and pulls the sheets back up over him, the angel is gone.

Castiel becomes Cas, and the nighttime visits become more frequent and more in-demand.

Cas strips him quickly, desire darkening his eyes and deepening his breath. In no time at all, Dean is lying naked on his stomach with his legs spread, and Cas is between his thighs, massaging his ass cheeks and pulling them apart to get a good look at Dean's opening. The angel is in only his boxers, the hard line of his cock pressing against the fabric and a bead of moisture collecting at the tip. Dean wishes he could touch Cas, take him in his mouth and make him moan, because Cas' moans are pure beauty.

He knows what's coming, but it doesn't stop him tensing and crying out quietly at the first touch of Cas' tongue to his tight hole. Cas laves at him, licking a wet stripe up his crack and holding him open with his thumbs, delving deep inside him and eating him out sloppily, messily, all tongue and saliva the way he knows Dean loves. And Dean does love it; he's writhing against Cas' mouth, twisting his hands in the sheets and pushing his ass up, wordlessly begging for more. And he gets it. Two slick fingers push inside of him, firm and deliberate, twisting until they find his prostate and Dean keens. His cock is trapped between the soft fabric of she sheets and his taut abs, leaking and aching, but he refuses to give it the attention it needs. He'll wait for Cas to do that.

The angel licks and sucks at his rim for a moment longer, the noises utterly obscene in the otherwise quiet room, then Cas evidently decides that Dean is prepped enough.

He grips Dean's upper arms, hauling him up until he's on his knees, straddling the angel's thick thighs, Cas' warm, strong chest against his back and the angel is naked against him. The blunt head of a thick cock, wet with lube mojo'd there when Dean was otherwise occupied on Cas' tongue, presses at his hole and he reaches beneath himself to help Cas line up. As the thick head of Cas' cock breaches him, they both let out low moans of desire and relief, Dean's body stretching to take the rigid shaft deep into him, and Cas nips his shoulder none-too-gently. Dean arches and shifts his hips, sinking down until he's fully seated in the angel's lap and they're both panting, gasping, clutching at each other and revelling in the feeling of being so deeply connected. They just rest there for a minute, and Dean's eyes fall closed and his head tips back onto Cas' shoulder.

This is what he needs. What he craves. This connection with Cas that runs soul-deep. This is his everything.

"Fuck… Jesus… God!"

"Say my name, Dean."

"Cas, Cas, fuck, right there!"

Dean groans and cries out as the angle changes, hands scrabbling at the sheets and whines, desperate for his release. He's on his stomach and Cas is fucking him from behind, one hand on his lower back for stability and the other tight in his hair, pulling his head back so his throat is exposed and breathing is tricky. They've been going at it for hours now, have tried every position they could think of, and their bodies are slick with sweat and Dean's stomach is tacky with precome.

This is his first time having anal sex with anyone, and it's blowing his fucking mind. Cas is the most attentive lover he's ever had, and manages to simultaneously take control while yielding to whatever Dean wants. He's attuned to every whine, every whimper, every cry, and every arch of the hunter's back and twist of his muscles. Dean had been nervous, had wanted to take it slow and gentle and they had. But being so intimate with Cas had quickly become intoxicating, and after Cas repeatedly rimming him, fingering him, fucking him, then returning to eat his ass out, Dean was a writhing mess and begging for everything the angel could give. And damn, Cas is giving. Giving Dean the most intimate, passionate, heated sex of his entire life and he never wants it to end.

The angel releases Dean's hair and runs a possessive hand down his spine, bringing his palm down hard onto Dean's asscheek and the sound echoes through the bedroom. Dean groans; his ass is already reddened from Cas' hand, but he craves more of the delicious sting. His cock is constantly dripping, the tip wet with precome and the sheets beneath him soaked, and he can feel himself careering towards the edge. Cas drives deep into him, the head of his cock grinding deliciously against Dean's prostate, and pleasure cascades over him in waves.

"Cas… more… harder… so close…"

Another slap to his ass and Cas leans forward, putting more weight onto Dean's back and thrusting harder. He's quiet, panting and making low, tense little sounds every now and again, but it's clear how into this he is. His fingers are digging in tight enough to bruise, and Dean loves every second of it.

His orgasm hits him in a sudden rush, his balls tightening and his ass clenching around Cas' shaft and he cries out over and over as the angel fucks him through it as he starts to come. Wetness spreads beneath him as he grinds into the sheets, oversensitive and overstimulated but craving more, and he gets it as Cas pushes deep into his body and stills, moaning Dean's name as he his cock pulses thick come into the searing heat of the hunter's body.

Dean's thighs are burning but it's the most delicious kind of ache. His back is pressed to Cas' chest, both of them slick with sweat and panting, and Cas is playing with his nipples, working the hard nubs and forcing groans past Dean's lips. It's their favourite position of late: Dean in Cas' lap, impaled on his cock and moaning as he rocks and grinds and takes his pleasure at his own pace. It can go on for hours, Dean arching his hips to take the angel as deep as he possibly can, loving the stretch and the feeling of being so deeply connected. He's close, has been riding the edge for a while now, but it feels too damn good to stop. He digs his fingers into Cas' thick thighs and grinds down with a low cry as the thick shaft of Cas' cock presses deliciously against his prostate. Ecstasy explodes through him, spiralling out from his pelvis to sparkle through his entire body and he can't contain his desperate cries any longer.

"Cas, Cas, oh Jesus."

He's riding him harder now, lifting himself up and slamming back down onto the thick shaft inside him, crying out with each thrust. Cas' hands drop to his hips and he groans into the back of Dean's neck, guiding him as he rides his cock and soon Cas is canting his hips up to meet the downward thrust of Dean's ass.

"Fuck, you're so tight," The angel licks the sweat from Dean's neck. He never swears; only when he's close to orgasm and barely holding on to his self-control. "I want you to come, Dean. Come on my cock, I want to see you fall apart." His voice is low and raspy, and it's clear he's barely restraining himself.

"God, yes, oh God…"

Dean throws his head back onto the angel's shoulder and Cas' thrusts intensify. Pleasure is alight in Dean's veins, and his throbbing, aching cock is standing proud from between his spread thighs, the wet tip slapping against his abs with every movement and leaving sticky trails of precome on his skin. His eyes fall closed and he melts into Cas as the angel takes over the pace and drives up into him with determined thrusts of his hips and bites a deep indent into his shoulder. Fuck. He's so close…

Then, in a move Dean couldn't anticipate but welcomes with reverence, Cas' hand comes up to cover his throat and tightens. Dean gasps, feeling pleasure coil between his legs and inside him as Cas grinds against his prostate… The angel's grip tightens, and Dean comes with a helpless, choked cry, without a single stroke to his cock. His come splashes up onto his chest and coats his cock, soaking his thighs and as Cas drives into him again he feels a second wave crash over him. He can barely draw breath, and his vision is blurring. He grips the angel's wrist tight enough to bruise and holds his hand right where it is against his throat, whining and groaning as another pulse of come coats his skin, arching against Cas' body. He swears he blacks out for a second, and when he comes to the grip on his throat has lessened and Cas is stroking the tender skin instead, kissing his jaw, and his thrusts have slowed right down to a sensual grind of his hips and it's sending warm pulses of pleasure through Dean with every movement.

"Fuck… fuck. Cas… Jesus, I love this."

Dean's arms come up to grip Cas' hair as he enjoys the afterglow and the way his prostate is still being gently stimulated with every thrust. He's overstimulated but it's perfect; not enough to draw another orgasm from him, but perfect to keep him riding a delicious edge of pleasure.

"Love you, Dean." Cas whispers into his hair, kissing his jaw and his neck and every part of Dean his lips can reach. He's thrusting up into Dean again, and Dean lets his eyes fall closed again and just enjoys. The feeling of Castiel being so deep inside him is one of his favourite things on earth. The ways Cas has reached orgasm inside him are endless, as are the ways Dean has come apart and climaxed so intensely thanks to the angel's attention, and he lets himself drift into sultry, dirty memories as Cas continues to fuck him…

Dean on his knees, palms braced against the wall as Cas pushes in once, deep, and his cock throbs as he empties himself inside his hunter, groaning against Dean's shoulder blades and biting his shoulder…

Dean on all fours, dropping his head onto his forearms as Cas drives in relentlessly, pulling out at the last second to coat Dean's gaping, clenching hole with his hot come; Dean crying out and coming at the sensation of it sliding down his balls just as Cas reaches under him and twists his fingers around his leaking cockhead, pushing him over the edge...

Dean spread out over Cas' lap, coming helplessly all over their thighs as Cas' hand comes down on his reddened ass again and again…

Cas pulling his cock out of Dean's mouth and holding his jaw, letting his release pulse into his hunter's open mouth, filling it up as his eyes fall closed in rapture, Dean, wound tight from hours of edging, falling headlong into orgasm at just the taste of his angel…

Dean lying facedown, legs spread, as Cas kneels between his thighs and pushes a thick glass dildo in and out of him. He's stretched wide open and is pushing his hips back to meet every thrust, coming hard all over the sheets beneath his trapped cock, seeing stars and howling…

Dean, blindfolded, hands tied behind his back and screaming in ecstasy as the angel bites his nipples and cups his balls just right…

"Ohfuck…" Dean comes again, sobbing quietly as the pleasure rolls through him and his body tightens around Cas' cock. The clenching of his hole throws Cas headlong into his own climax and he grips Dean's hips so hard he almost breaks the skin, and chants Dean's name as his cock pulses thick, searing come into his hunter's body, filling him and marking him up deep inside. Dean wails at the sensation, his body oversensitive and exhausted, and writhes in Cas' lap until two fingers to the back of his neck ease the edge and he melts back against Cas again, groaning and trying to catch his breath.

"Fuckin' love you, man," Dean whispers, and Cas murmurs his agreement, his arms coming around Dean in an embrace, and he lets the angel manoeuvre them until they're lying on their sides, their bodies still joined, and Cas kisses his neck as Dean sighs in exhausted delight. Another press of fingers to his neck and suddenly Dean's skin is cleaned of his cooling semen, and he knows Cas' spend is mostly gone from inside him too, only leaving a hint of lube so it isn't uncomfortable when he pulls out. He almost wishes Cas would leave him filled… he loves the obscene, filthy feeling of the angel's come slowly dripping from him as Cas pulls his cock out. Loves the sensation of it sliding over his sensitised balls and spent cock. Loves how debauched it makes him feel, especially on the rare occasions when Cas just stands and watches…

Cas shifts his hips, his softening cock slipping from Dean's slackened hole, and the angel nuzzles the back of his neck and presses gentle kisses to his skin. Dean is exhausted, lying limp in the embrace, and falls slowly into a doze as Cas whispers to him that he's perfect, that he's wonderful, that he makes Cas so happy. If it's one thing the angel is good at, it's aftercare. But fuck it, Cas is good at everything. He just excels at aftercare, especially when things have got a bit rough. He soothes Dean's skin with gentle punches, the pads of his fingers cool and silken as they touch his throat, his collarbones, the curve of his lips, the bolt of his jaw.

"Rest, Dean." Cas' voice is low and adoring, the devotion evident in the reverent way he holds Dean so close. "You've been so good. Love you. So much."

And Dean's eyes fall closed. The last thing he remembers is the warm weight of Cas' arm over his waist and the light caress of warm breath on his neck.

Hours later, Dean stirs in his sleep and reaches out for his angel. The sheets on Cas' side of the bed are cool, and he blinks his eyes open in the semi-darkness. The angel is gone. Again. But this isn't out of the ordinary for Cas; sleep evades him, and he would rather read in the library or wander the halls of the bunker like a ghoul than lie next to Dean's prone body all night. Not every night though. He knows sometimes Cas will watch over him as he sleeps, interfering in his dreams and clearing away the nightmares, running gentle hands over his body and soothing him when he tosses and turns. Those are the nights he sleeps the best, and he wishes it could happen every night.

Turning over, unconcerned, Dean thrusts a hand under his pillow and snuggles down again. The room is cool and dark, and he's sure he has another few hours to sleep. Ain't that one of life's little blessings, waking up and knowing your alarm isn't going to sound any time soon? Not if you're an insomniac, he supposes drowsily, but sleep is never something he's really had an issue with. Something tugs at his subconscious but he's asleep again before he can give it too much thought. Wherever Cas is, he's sure he will be there in the morning, waiting for Dean with a cup of coffee and a plate of waffles.

His last thought before dropping off again is that he really should teach the angel how to cook a wider variety of things for breakfast.


End file.
